Poem for Saturday, June 1, 2013

The American Southwest in Four Parts

I.

Entering and Leaving the Muskogee (Creek) Nation:

along the interstate is a row of dead
trees standing as ghosts among those green
and living. their branches imply they
died while dancing--wind-stripped and
painless. down further in an open field are
clusters of black cattle munching their
way through spring. there is nothing
else.

II.

Driving through a One-Horse Texas Town:

in Vega, TX exists one of the handful of
Shamrock gas stations left. across from it is
another gas station and across from it is
some kind of white silo or tower that
surrenders to the sun a little more each day.
across from it is a wooden building lettered with
'Saloon'. combine everything and what you have
is a lonely intersection.

III.

Cutting through the Land of Enchantment:

crossing the northeastern border is more
surreal with the radio on. the signal is aflame
and will crack-hiss until you find the first of
the four or five stations: mariachi band music.
spoiler alert: the others are honkytonk and classic
country. once upon a time, there were buckets
of blood spilled in this desert.

IV.

Cresting the Red Rock Formations in Sedona:

they are not mountains. mountains are formed
from upward thrusts of the earth. they are products
of sedimentation--erosion, wind, sand, clay, skin
and blood. there are two differences between us
and them; bones and the ability to endure time and
humanity. we shall never have the latter and they
have no need for the former. these are the things
to which we must succumb.